


Violent Responses

by walkthegale



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Escape, Gen, Rescue, Sisters, UNIT, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkthegale/pseuds/walkthegale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things worth sacrificing your career for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violent Responses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinyjenni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyjenni/gifts).



_Resistant. Hostile. Displaying a tendency towards a violent response._

Too bloody right, she was. Martha was quite sure she'd be displaying a number of violent responses herself if she'd been electrocuted, drugged, and locked in a window-less, reinforced cell with no contact from anyone but military scientists for the last two weeks.

A few illicit bits of alien tech that she'd “acquired” along the way had helped her bypass the alarms and set the security cameras to show a looped feed that the Doctor himself would have had trouble distinguishing from the real thing, and blagging her way past the guards had been so easy they should be embarrassed. She strode down the corridor like she owned the place, having discovered early on that a nose buried in a clipboard usually discouraged a lot of questions.

Outside the cell door, she paused and took a few deep breaths. Once she went inside, there was no going back. UNIT weren't going to forgive something like this, so any chance of a long and illustrious career with them would be effectively shattered.

She peered through the spyhole. The subject seemed to be asleep in the bed on the opposite side of the cell. Martha swiped her card, punched in a code, and submitted to a fingerprint scan before the door clicked open. She slipped inside.

Some time later, she opened her eyes and found herself flat on her back on a very hard, very cold floor. A slightly blurry blonde woman was hovering somewhere above her in her field of vision.

“Ouch.”

“If you try to move without my say-so, it'll be a lot more than ouch.”

It occurred to Martha that she could possibly have thought this one through a bit better. To be fair, she hadn't had much planning time. “Look, I'm not here to hurt you...”

“Yeah, you're the first one to say that,” the woman rolled her eyes. “Look, let's cut the crap. You've come in here with nothing but this tiny little gun, and you've left the door open. What kind of a test is this? What's waiting for me out there if I try to escape this time? 'Cause, let me tell you, kind of tired of it now.”

“Ok, but can I at least sit up?” A brief nod, so Martha struggled upright, ignoring the pounding in her head, and spoke as quickly as she could. “I don't have time to explain everything now, but I know what you are, and I don't think you should be here. The slayers aren't a danger to the world, you're a blessing, and we're being stupid about it. As usual. Anyway, I've come to get you out of here.”

Buffy Summers glared at her. It was surprisingly terrifying given how tiny she was. “Uh huh. Give me _any_ reason I should believe you.”

“You don't need to believe me.”

“Wait, what?”

Martha let her eyelids droop and swayed as though she was going to fall. Automatically, Buffy reached out to steady her, and at the moment her hand touch Martha's arm, Martha thanked her lucky stars that she'd judged Buffy's instincts right, and pressed a button hidden under the seam of her lab coat.

They vanished.

A few seconds of disconcerting colours that Martha thought might be the time vortex when viewed without a TARDIS and at great speed, and they reappeared on a wet and windy hillside. Buffy gasped and stumbled next to her, trying to keep her balance.

“It takes you that way the first time,” Martha told her.

She turned to a slight brunette girl who had clearly been waiting for them, sheltering under a giant umbrella that was fighting a losing battle with the weather.

“Hello Dawn,” she said. “I think I have something of yours.”


End file.
